


Superhero AU

by Silence_Speaker



Series: Patchwork [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crime Fighting, Erebor is a scary place, Gen, Secret Identity, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silence_Speaker/pseuds/Silence_Speaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo distraught found something to focus on, a crusade to fight, he just didn't know his guardian also fought the same crusade. Thorin was also surprised to find Bilbo doing the same as him, sort of.</p>
<p>His way didn't involve so much burglary...</p>
<p>(Unconnected oneshots.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superhero AU

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the batman movie where Robin and his family work in a circus until they die, killed by...Doctor Oc? I can’t quite remember...
> 
> Warnings: murder-not gory...um... 
> 
> Disclaimer.
> 
> Pairings: Thorin/Bilbo...sort of...could be taken as beginnings of a bromance or epically antagonistic friendship...
> 
> Human AU.
> 
> -Right, again another change...
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> I got annoyed at seeing the incomplete version of the 30 Day AU so I decided to delete the bits I didn't like and post the rest as oneshots separately. -
> 
> 30 Day Au originally inspired by Moonrose9's excellent collection called Little Black Dress.

Bilbo beamed, the smile not contained by his face. 

He swung, momentarily suspended in the air without a single fetter to ground him. 

He soared.

Unfettered. 

Free.

He was doing what he loved, surrounded by his family, dancing in the air. 

No ropes, safety nets or mats to soften a fall, there never were. As a family they plied their trade and as a family they worked seamlessly. One act folding into the next, no stops, no faltering and always the thump of adrenalin speeding the pulse of not only them but the audience too. 

There were multiple aerial acts at one time, a couple of them in the hanging hoops, a couple more on the trapeze and a couple on the silks.

The crowd gasped all the more because there was no safety line; if you fell, you fell hard. 

Sometimes you didn’t get back up.

They travelled, never staying in one place for long. It was brilliant; Bilbo loved seeing new places, enjoying the thrill of always moving. 

Erebor was the next stop. A large city, fraught with crime, they didn’t go there much and Bilbo was too young to remember the last visit the carnival had paid there.

When they entered Erebor Bilbo came down with a nasty cold and so was out of the act, if you felt even a little off you did not perform on the dangerous acts such as the aerial ones, it had been one of the first rules Bilbo had learnt. 

So Bilbo watched, lost in the crowd, seated in one of the best seats (his mothers fault, he wouldn’t have minded sitting in the cheaper seats). Bilbo barely noticed the people around him, the man next to him dressed in an expensive suit adorned with a fearsome scowl. 

What did he care for the audience when he could watch his mother and father do their famous double act? 

When he could watch his family dance?

Bilbo grinned, eyes intent on his mother a smile curling his lips as he watched his father and mother swing together on the trapeze, his mother smiling, a mischievous curl to her red painted lips, as she held on to his hands.

Belladonna and Bungo worked beautifully when together, nothing compared - in Bilbo’s eyes at least.

A snap rang out through the tent and for a moment Bilbo dismissed the sound, too engrossed in the act. It was only as his cousin Otho’s face twisted in panic that Bilbo realised something was wrong.

Another snap, this time followed by a clang of metal against metal and suddenly the ropes snapped, the poles holding up the trapeze, the silks and the hoops came crashing down along with the aerial artists.

It was all so sudden, so unexpected that Bilbo froze for a long moment, expecting his parents, his family to jump up with a smile, a flourish and an apology for the abrupt ending to the show but there was a technical fault.

He waited a heart beat (that stretched for eternity) longer.

They lay still on the ground unmoving, no one stood, no finger twitched.

Bilbo breathed in sharply, half caught between a sob and a moan. His brain seemed to come back online, the cogs twirling too slowly for him to process what his heart had already acknowledged.

“Mum! Dad!” Bilbo shouted desperately, vaulting onto the thin hand rail, that was there to keep the audience away from the circus acts, and running along it (he had grown up on the ropes, balancing his weight came instinctively) to avoid the crowd and get to his family as quickly as possible.

Bilbo sank to his knees when he reached the impossibly still forms, chests no longer rising and falling. He found no pulse on his mother and father so he quickly reached for the others, his aunts and uncles and cousins. He couldn’t find a single flicker on life. Not a twitch of an eyelash.

Belladonna still had a smile on her painted lips, the red gleaming in the light. She always painted her lips that shade of startling red, always a trail blazer, always just a bit more vibrant than anyone else.

It was vaguely surprising how similar that familiar red looked like blood. He felt a giggle rise up his throat. It burst out of his mouth in a sob that wracked his frame.

How? What? Why...

Bilbo sat there, in amongst the newly dead (they were still warm for Yavanna’s sake!), uncaring as tears traced down his face and not a word was uttered from him. He sat there silent, staring into his mother’s lifeless gaze and looking blankly at the exhilarated smile that would be forever etched on her pretty face.

Later he didn’t recall the paramedics rushing in nor did he remember the screams from the audience that started when they first fell, he didn’t notice the police scanning the area for whoever had caused the ‘accident’. 

He didn’t feel the strong man from earlier who had been sitting next to him pick him up as easily as if Bilbo had been a child’s doll nor did he remember sinking into the crushing darkness after the man had placed him in a bed.

 

#

 

Earlier that evening:

Thorin scowled, he didn’t really want to be here, at a _circus_ of all places, but alas his sister had forced him to go citing his lack of social life as ‘unhealthy’.

He had to admit though (although not aloud and certainly not in Dís’ earshot) that the aerial acts were quite amazing; the artists were flying through the air with smiles on their faces, enjoying it!

Thorin dismissed the young boy seated next to him, feeling slight irritation bubble up when the boy muttered under his breath listing the different manoeuvres and the mistakes made. Honestly, it didn’t look like mistakes. Thorin nearly scowled at the slight lad, annoyed at someone critiquing the superb acts.

He doubted the boy could do any better.

And then the supports fell, obviously sabotaged a distant voice in Thorin’s brain told him. And he felt like an utter cad for being irritated by the lad’s commentary when he rose with a cry of anguish shouting for his mother and father, evidently two of the artists.

Thorin remained motionless for a split second too long as the lad next to him vaulted (rather spectacularly) onto the railing, running along the narrow bar as though it was a wide pavement without even a wobble, vaulting from one railing to another to avoid the panicked crowd and so he could swiftly reach his parents.

“‘It’ll be fun’ she said. ‘It’ll be entertaining’ she said.” Thorin groused to himself as he made his way over pushing through the crowd going at a far slower rate than the boy had. Thorin got to him as the boy was checking the pulse on all of them. Thorin felt sympathy welling in his gut when he heard the boy calling them auntie... or uncle... or cousin... And then the boy sat down blankly next to the two marvellous trapeze artists.

His mother and father Thorin surmised.

The paramedics rushed in and Thorin was glad someone had had the foresight to call them. 

He should have called them, he was normally very good in dangerous situations but something about the nature of this, of seeing the grief in the lads face had stumped him. It reminded him of his own parent’s deaths and for once he felt helplessness rise up within him, freezing him in place. 

Thorin despised feeling helpless.

So he did what he could.

He picked the silent, lost in his own grief, lad up and offered to house him until he was better. Until the authorities could find some remaining family to take him in.

It would be a strain trying to keep his secret identity safe with a person not in the know living with him...but the manor was large, he was sure it would work and Balin his butler and old friend would help.

The lad didn’t stir as he was put into a car nor when Thorin picked him up again as he wasn’t responding to his orders to stand up and get out the car. Thankfully though when the boy was placed into a bed, hurriedly made up by Balin, his eyelids fluttered and he fell asleep hiding his blank gaze.

 

#

 

The boy, Bilbo, he was informed, didn’t speak for days, he barely acknowledged them. He just drifted around like a ghost. Even his footsteps were silent!

Nothing Balin or Thorin did seemed to get through the shell Bilbo had put up, a shell that shuttered his eyes and sliced his vocal cords.

Then Bilbo found the massive library. And something seemed to change; a light reappeared in his eyes and he seemed more aware. Bilbo now thanked them for things and (on a good day) could be drawn into a small conversation.

It was Thorin who found the one subject that lit up Bilbo’s eyes and had him talking for days. 

His family. 

He told them snippets of a life growing up in a circus, on the road, always surrounded by family, of the camaraderie they shared and the care and devotion his parents had for one another.

They learnt Bilbo was 16 nearly 17, that his education was spotty in some places and far beyond the level a normal 16 year olds was in others. Bilbo, it seemed, adored History and Geography, pulling out maps to eye the lay of the land before describing the various boundaries and battles that led to the borders today. He also loved reading; he had to be torn away from the library a few times to be reminded to actually sleep.

Thorin decided to let Bilbo stay, it was nice having company other than Balin around and Balin liked having someone else to fuss over. Bilbo didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Dís raised an eyebrow when she heard but didn’t chime in with any unwanted commentary. Something that made Thorin more unnerved than anything she could have said. His sister was lethal.

Thorin enrolled Bilbo into college so Bilbo had something to do with his time and so he could get some real qualifications. Growing up in a circus didn’t exactly make a résumé.

Some days Bilbo was a typical 17 year old, full of life and chatter, other days he was absolutely silent, a ghost haunting the library; the memory of his family’s demise haunting him.

Thorin had suggested a psychologist but Balin had just said ‘these things take time’, urging him not to force Bilbo into anything.

After a few months at college (nearly a year) Bilbo seemed to grow into himself, speak more and with greater confidence, relighting the fire in his eyes. His zest for life renewed. 

Well, it seemed Balin was right, time really did help.

Bilbo didn’t retreat silently into the library anymore, didn’t retreat into his shell. He occasionally stayed out late not coming back until the early hours of the morning, he kept to his room more often but whenever Thorin or Balin saw him he was cheerful and bright and as ready to chat as ever despite the shadows under his eyes that Thorin shared from lack of proper sleep.

At his actions Balin just shook his head muttering ‘teenagers’. Thorin would have liked to scold Bilbo for his irregular comings and goings but he had no leg to stand on. He often returned to the manor at uncivilised hours.

Thorin had to keep up his pretence of a rich arsehole, going to parties, getting ‘drunk’ just to keep his cover as Thorin Durin and to be as opposite from the known vigilante ‘Oakenshield’ as possible.

To be honest, it didn’t take much pretending. Those types of soirees always put him in a foul mood anyway.

 

#

 

Bilbo spent months in Erebor before he finally realised how bad off the majority of people who lived there were. How most were just barely scraping by.

And it all added to the extreme crime in Erebor, the rich crime lords ruled the city and that’s why people were so poor, the crime lords charged them for protection, like an extra tax. It was sickening.

Half the officials seemed to be taking bribes or corrupt. 

The other half didn’t last long.

Oakenshield, the known vigilante, was putting a stop to a few of the most influential crime leaders but there was nothing being done for the people suffering under the crime lords.

And then...then Bilbo had an idea. 

(An insane idea including epic proportions of stupidity.)

So he joined the local gymnastics and got lessons with a private teacher so some of his circus skills wouldn’t get rusty, so he remained limber.

He spoke to a toy maker, Bofur, who had been under a crime lord until recently and when he could he helped those in need. 

(Bofur was cheeky with a kind light to his eyes and a soft spot a mile wide for children.)

Bilbo got out the costume that had been made for him, by his mother before her death, for aerial acrobatics. 

He had never worn it before, it had been a new design and none of the public had ever seen it. It had been at the bottom of his suitcase since he came to Thorin’s manor.

He had barely been able to look at it before without a lump in his throat forming. But now, when he had a specific purpose in mind for it...

Well, he was sure his mother would have approved.

And soon, there were two recognisable vigilantes instead of one.

 

#

 

Three years later:

Bilbo snorted at the newspaper nearly choking on his cereal. Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“What, pray tell, is so amusing?” Thorin asked a little stiffly, there was a large piece in the newspaper about Oakenshield and he hoped Bilbo wasn’t another to just disparage him and his work.

“It’s the name they’ve given that other vigilante, the one who wears green. They’ve taken to calling him Robin.” Bilbo said with another snort. 

Thorin relaxed slightly. He and Robin had met a few times, both trying to help people, Robin was infuriating with his teasing comments and impish nature but Thorin acknowledged he was liked by the poor and he did help people. 

What he didn’t like was Robin was stealing, even if it was to help the poor, he was trying to stop crime not let a vigilante get away with it.

 

#

 

Bilbo snorted again, yes he supposed he did act a little like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor but did they have to name him ‘Robin’? It was just so...so...Bilbo sighed, he supposed despite their slightly ungainly look Robins were very graceful and swift in flight, so the name wasn’t too far off.

The article went on to disparage Robin. 

Robin often managed to steal expensive trinkets, like necklaces or something like that but he’d replace it with an exquisite plastic version, so the people wouldn’t know it was missing until they realised it was plastic and not the expensive precious gems. 

Bilbo had left monopoly money in place of real money a few times, it made him laugh. It seems the reporter was less than amused by his antics.

Sometimes the people he robbed never even realised he had been there.

Bofur, the toy maker, was amazing at his job. 

Bilbo would take pictures of the item in question, estimate the weight and size and tell Bofur who would make a plastic or glass or even just a much cheaper metal version; Bilbo always paid him well for it. 

Bofur’s creations were spectacularly similar to the original and nearly fooled even him.

Bilbo would then sell the real jewels to a sympathetic jeweller, Gandalf, who paid a fair price before dismantling the item. Gandalf had been discretely helping those in need before and he liked what Bilbo was doing.

Bilbo then gave the rest of the money to the poor.

“Doesn’t seem a very Good Samaritan move, stealing. Even if the proceeds go to the poor.” Bilbo commented disparagingly. 

He tended to lightly disdain ‘Robin’ when talking to others so people would think it even less likely that it was him behind the mask.

Thorin didn’t respond to him, simply taking another sip of his coffee.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leaving for work now?” Thorin asked eyeing his watch.

Bilbo glanced at the time before blanching and jumping up shoving a slice of toast in his mouth and swiftly, near flying out the room.

It wouldn’t do to be late and he did so hate being rude.

 

#

 

Bilbo grinned as he jumped from building to building, sometimes using ropes and grappling hooks and at other times just his natural body movements. 

He knew Erebor like the back of his hand and could get anywhere from just running across roofs in a far faster time than he would on the ground. It was freeing. 

He felt almost as light as he had when practising and performing with his family in the tent.

He swung neatly from a solid drain pipe, kicking off from the wall to leap across the gap between a pub and a house.

He had the jewellery in his pocket and no one was chasing him, it had been a lucrative night.

Bilbo frowned, pulling the fitted green mask more securely over his features, as he noticed what appeared to be a scuffle not far away.

Silently he crept nearer. 

His eyebrows shot up to his hair line as he took in the grappling forms of Oakenshield and another man. From Oakenshield’s stiff movements and favouring of his left side he had been hit with something and probably drugged or concussed. Or both.

(It wouldn’t be the first time. Bilbo had seen Oakenshield take down a small drugs cartel and then flee the police all with a concussion and broken arm. For sheer tenacity Oakenshield should have been given a prize.)

Bilbo crept up behind the person grappling with Oakenshield and, unnoticed, swiftly incapacitated them before heading over to Oakenshield.

“Fancy seeing you here Oak. And me being the daring rescuer and all. Do I get a kiss for saving this damsel in distress?” Bilbo mocked examining Oakenshield’s pupils and feeling for his pulse.

“N-not a dam-damsel. I don’t need y-your help.” Oakenshield rasped breathing heavily eyes falling shut for a few seconds before he forced them open again. Bilbo rolled his eyes pushing down the niggling worry and the faint feeling that he recognised who Oakenshield was.

That gruff voice was familiar...

“I’m sure if I let you stand up by yourself you’d majestically topple over. Save your posturing for when you can actually stand up unaided. Until then you have my assistance.” Bilbo said dryly. Oakenshield snorted.

“Can st-stand up myself.” Oakenshield insisted even as most of his body weight was supported by Bilbo.

“Sure you can.” Bilbo muttered sarcastically. They weren’t far from Gandalf’s and he was pretty good at stitching people back together.

Somehow Bilbo managed to drag Oakenshield’s hulking form to Gandalf’s despite his much slighter frame. Oakenshield was built like a rock, not an easy thing to move at all.

 

#

 

Thorin came to a few hours later on a soft bed his head throbbing along with his side. He poked the bandage carefully trying to ascertain the damage done.

A sudden thought struck and Thorin immediately felt his face for his mask breathing out in relief as he found it still on and unmoved. His identity was still secret.

He didn’t have time to wonder why his lapse into unconsciousness hadn’t been taken advantage of because the door opened and in stepped a familiar figure.

Robin entered the room bearing a tray with some tea and sandwiches on. Thorin watched Robin curiously, he didn’t have to help him yet Robin had and taken him somewhere to be healed and it wasn’t a hospital, so his cover wasn’t blown.

“Are you feeling alright? We’re not quite sure what drug was in your system but Gandalf thinks it wasn’t anything really bad or anything that will cause problems later. He stitched up your side for you.” Robin said in the gently teasing tone of voice Thorin could have sworn was strangely familiar, and not just because Robin bantered with him whenever they met.

Thorin eyed the mask on Robin’s face speculatively. If Robin just moved a little closer, just a tad...

Just as Robin was handing Thorin some tea Thorin struck swiftly yanking the mask off Robin’s face. Honey coloured curls and startled eyes met Thorin’s thunderstruck eyes as he recognised Robin.

Bilbo, Bilbo the boy he had taken in, was Robin.

Thorin was so shocked by this revelation he missed Bilbo grabbing for his own mask.

“There now we’re both defrocked...” Bilbo trailed off as he recognised Thorin. As one they spoke.

“Bugger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I also don’t own the quote from BBC Sherlock’s ASiB, Irene Adler...)

**Author's Note:**

> (I also don’t own the quote from BBC Sherlock’s ASiB, Irene Adler...)


End file.
